Gravitation Cannot Be Held Responsible
by Talktidy
Summary: Captain Kirk meets a Vulcan, suffering from a strange affliction… Kirk pov - now completed PIP
1. Chapter 1

**Gravitation Cannot Be Held Responsible**

**By Talktidy**

Disclaimer: would that these characters were mine. They most assuredly are not.

_Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love. _

_— __Albert Einstein _

Chapter 1

One thing about luxury passenger vessels that Captain James T Kirk approved of: they came with well appointed gyms and, if one was lucky, even fifty metre swimming pools. _Gloriana_ was so equipped. The constraints of his chosen profession made swimming a sybaritic indulgence, one he planned on making the most of, but first he'd set himself the goal of another ten minutes of pounding the living hell out of the punching bag in front of him. When there was a lot on his plate, his eating habits left a lot to be desired. A virtuous sweat dripped off his brow, enough to silence McCoy's nagging over a recent weight gain.

Yet he was hardly working out with such ferocity of purpose to earn the approval of his Chief Medical Officer, but rather to expunge the nasty memory the court martial had left behind, a far more prosaic affair than his only other experience with Spock. He was not one to enjoy sitting in judgment of others, but at least the disgraced captain had had the thoughtfulness to make life easy for his peers. The verdict cut and dried for a captain first to sprint for the escape pods at the merest inkling of a warp core breach, the hell with the safety of his crew. How could Starfleet psychological evaluations have ever got it so wrong? He resented the dishonoured captain almost as much for the disgrace to the uniform, as he did the man drawing him away from overseeing _Enterprise_'s repairs and refit at Starbase 39. No matter his wholehearted trust in Spock and Scotty to oversee the task, it was his ship and he wanted to be there.

His attention had been fully engaged in thumping the punching bag into submission. When he finally decided enough was enough and looked up, he was startled to discover he was not alone. Startled, since it was oh three hundred hours shiptime. All that hopping from ship to ship on the return leg from Deep Space Two left him out of step with local time, a situation he saw no reason to correct, when he would be transferring off _Gloriana_ the day after next at Andoria.

His fellow passengers in need of a workout were Vulcans. Four of them. All gathered on the exercise mat set aside for wrestling, judo and sports in a similar vein. Their presence surprised him, since _Gloriana_'s destination, with minor diversions to pick up additional passengers, was Raisa. Heading off to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh and work on a decent tan?

If their presence aboard was a surprise, discovering that they sparred with lirpas utterly astonished him. How did they manage to get those past ship's security? Practice lirpas perhaps. It seemed the bladed side was not edged, but even so, they could still do a lot of damage. Hard to believe even a Vulcan's best butter wouldn't melt demeanour would succeed in preventing them being seized and confiscated at embarkation.

One of the Vulcans eschewed an orderly warm-up routine, impatiently waiting for one of his fellows to engage him. A companion completed his own warm-up, took a couple of practice swings, and saluted the impatient Vulcan. He immediately retreated before an aggressive barrage of blows he only just met with his own weapon. One of the other Vulcans, attention riveted on the pair trying to knock lumps out of each other, prowled a wandering perimeter out of range of a stray lirpa swipe. The aggressive Vulcan's technique betrayed him and he was beaten back. Whether the more defensively minded Vulcan let down his guard at this point, or he suffered a momentary distraction, was debatable. What was not debatable was that he never saw coming the substantial whack to the midriff that floored him on his ass. Kirk's startlement grew when the aggressive Vulcan raised his lirpa as if to bring it down hard upon his opponent's skull.

"Kroykah!" Bellowed the group's referee.

The aggressive Vulcan stopped. He stared at the lirpa in his hands and looked around him as if not knowing where he was. The Vulcan's gaze fastened on the lirpa again and tracked upward until it met with his own astonished stare. A hungry absence looked back at him.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose and a chill hand poured ice down his spine, vanquishing the heat of his workout. Emotions and half remembered impressions surged up out of his memories: ochre tinged sky; the smell of an alien desert; a mouth salty and metallic with his own blood; not being able to breathe. A friend, subsumed beneath implacable drive, choking the life out of him, seeing only a competitor and intent on annihilating all challengers.

_Gloriana_'s ultimate destination might be Raisa, but on the way she would put in at a Rigellian colony, a relatively short hop from there to Vulcan.

_…__stand with me…by tradition the male is accompanied by his closest friends._

Oh.

The Vulcans approached their friend warily, but the fight had gone out of him. The lirpa fell to the padded exercise mat with a muted thump; a second later he followed the lirpa's example and lay in an untidy heap beside the weapon, a shivering puddle of misery.

One of them swooped in with a medical tricorder. "He needs rest. Help me take him back to our quarters." He moved as if to scoop the stricken Vulcan into his arms, but he was pushed aside by the one who seemed to be the leader of the group, whose larger frame was more equal to the task. The Vulcan with the tricorder turned his attention to the defeated combatant, who at last had gingerly risen to his feet, but was waved away. The other might have been moving with a stiff care to nurse his bruises, but he still took the burden of the downed Vulcan off their leader in a wordless exchange, and headed for the exit. The Vulcan with the tricorder scuttled along in their wake.

The Vulcan who remained, quietly went about the business of gathering up the lirpas and putting them into carrying cases stacked against a bulkhead wall. He offered no acknowledgement of his presence, no doubt waiting for this unfortunately nosey human to make himself scarce. Weapons packed away at last, the Vulcan bestowed a stony look upon him. He was used to that look. He strangled any mischief on his part to offer a greeting and detain the man, gave a polite, offhand nod, and went to change into swimming attire.

The following day at the same time, the punch bag suffered another pummelling at his hands and the Vulcans again trained at the mat. If he were honest, his workout was less intense because he was indulging his nosiness. Maybe the Vulcan, who was er… _unwell_ had managed some sleep, because he certainly seemed more rested and was altogether better behaved. The Vulcans detected his curiosity and not with appreciation. They closed in about their ailing friend, shielding him from the outsider's sight. Nothing to see here.

"May I help you?" said their leader, approaching him.

"I'm good."

The Vulcan parsed that sentence, looking confused.

He laughed. "By which I mean I require no assistance."

"The workout mat has been reserved for this time. Everything is in order."

"I am sure it is."

"Then I cannot account for your interest in the activities of my friends and I." Translation: take that nose of yours and put it where the stars don't shine.

"I am always interested in other sparring styles, looking for any moves I can copy and place in my own repertoire."

A disdainful eyebrow assessed his form, found it wanting. After meeting Spock, it had come as a shock to discover that not all Vulcans were the paragons that exposure to his first officer might make him expect them to be. Yet, there was more of a desire that the Terran should make himself scarce, than real intolerance and calculated insult in the other's appraisal.

"Also, depends if you're amenable to some assistance. Your friend is leaving himself open, when he feints to strike from his right. I just thought I would mention it. Sometimes it takes another eye to see."

The expression on the Vulcan's face was, if possible, even more forbidding. Kirk sighed. It really, really wasn't any of his business. What the hell was wrong with him? Just because he was bored, he couldn't impinge on the privacy of others like this, especially Vulcans.

As he had yesterday, he gave the Vulcan a polite nod and began to head off for the pool, when all hell broke loose. The ailing Vulcan, spotting the stranger in their midst and presumably perceiving him as an enemy — scratch that, a rival, more likely — launched himself in a ferocious attack. In seconds, hands were around his throat.

A nasty case of déjà vu.

"Siran, no!"

"Kroykah!"

If anything, the bands of steel around his throat tightened and only released when his assailant succumbed to a neck pinch. His own knees hit the deck and he drew in a lungful of air, while he delicately probed his neck with his thumb and index finger. That would teach him to be inquisitive. Not too much damage, bruised and tender, but he was breathing without difficulty, though his respiration had escalated. Fight or flight. He concentrated on calming his body's outraged reflexes.

"Allow me." The Vulcan he presumed to be a healer, fell to his knees, avoiding invading his privacy with touch as would a human physician, examining his throat by both eye and with the benefit of the medical tricorder. "The damage is not life threatening," he told the leader of the group of Vulcans, "but it is likely very sore." He looked at Kirk, as if registering the subject of his assessment should have a stake in the information, too. Some work needed on that bedside manner. "I regret I have not the equipment to treat your bruising." Was that worry that fleetingly showed on his face?

"Never mind," said Kirk, pushing himself to his feet. "I'll live."

The Vulcan leader attempted some fast talking. "I apologise for my brother, sir. He is in need of medical treatment… and not quite himself." Disaster lay in the offing if this human were to press charges. If his brother were detained, he probably would never make it home in time. Hence panic, or as much as a Vulcan would ever allow of himself. "If you require recompense for this unfortunate affair, I am prepared to discuss terms with you."

"Never mind. My fault. Shouldn't have butted in. In his condition, who knows who he thought I was."

The Vulcan's face was scrupulously absent of emotion. Nevertheless, body language told its own tale of shock that this Terran might comprehend what ailed their companion and had the temerity, no matter how obliquely, to address what might be wrong. "Who are you?"

"James T Kirk of the USS _Enterprise_, at your service."

"Ah, Spock."

Kirk grinned. "My esteemed first officer."

"I am Tay," said the Vulcan, unbending enough to allow himself this. "I will take your advice about Siran letting his guard drop. I wish to keep my brother alive." Again the momentary birth and death of an expression and one of out and out fear, at that. Young and under a lot of stress, more than sufficient to erode control. It was difficult to estimate the ages of Vulcans, but on closer acquaintance he thought Tay much younger than Spock, and in Vulcan terms Spock was still barely into adulthood. Yet Tay indisputably led the little group, which prompted him to wonder at the ages of his companions.

Had other female bondmates taken a leaf out of T'Pring's book? Or was this hoo-ha all about young Vulcans working themselves into a lather over the big bad wolf of pon farr. Then again remembering his own experiences at Spock's wedding, maybe it did indeed warrant outright fear and revulsion.

"You suspect your brother's bondmate will challenge?"

Affront warred with a desire to unburden himself to someone. Affront took a hike.

"The number of challenges have increased of late."

That was a yes on T'Pring copycats, then.

"Should T'Kar forsake my brother and challenge, I do not know that he has either the skill or the desire to survive. Your immediate experience to the contrary, my brother is a gentle creature, who would harm no one," and added, as if it sealed the deal. "He is studying to be a biologist."

"I am not sure this is the reassurance you seek, but I know of another Vulcan, normally gentle of temperament, who changed on the challenging grounds."

"Is it true that Spock talked while in the plak-tow?"

He hesitated. This was not his business to recount, no matter that he had been there.

"Forgive me, that was intrusive and impolite. I have no right to invade another's privacy."

"Perhaps I might trade you in the intrusiveness and impoliteness stakes. Are you not married yourself?"

"No."

"Oh, I thought your brother was the younger?"

"He is." At his evident surprise, he added, "These matters do not follow a strict timetable." As if remembering he was speaking to an offworlder and regretting the impulse to confide in a stranger, he drew back into a carapace of Vulcan rectitude. "I must check Siran is well."

He scuttled away before hearing any response to his farewell.

xxx

Now to be utterly shameless … if you enjoyed this piece, or even if you thought it was awful, may I beg for some feedback. There's only so much that the hit counts on my story stats page can tell me and, for all I know, people are taking one look and clicking that back button straight out of dodge. Even negative feedback on stuff you think doesn't work would be useful and very much appreciated.

I am working without the benefit of a beta. I'm looking for one. If anyone out there is interested in maybe a swap, please pm me.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Kirk woke to the sound of a persistent ping, wondering what it was, until he awoke fully and realised it was the ship's communications system demanding his attention. He flicked the switch and sought out the time shown on the communications panel. Just after oh seven hundred hours.

"Kirk here."

"This is Colclough, Captain Kirk."

"What can I do for you, Captain?" The two of them danced around each other in exquisite politeness. At embarkation he'd been so exhausted, he'd barely had energy for politeness and Colclough had taken it amiss. Now it was 'Captain' and 'sir' at every juncture.

"I am afraid I have bad news, sir. _Gloriana_ is diverting to Port Cochrane."

"That is taking me out of my way, Captain." What the hell? Now wide awake, he quelled mounting impatience. "Why Cochrane Point?" although he could probably guess. Also Port Cochrane, indeed. Laughable to distinguish the tiny station with the designation of Port. Any Starfleet captain obliged to put in there was having an exceedingly bad day. Glorified trading post, offering the sort of tat tourists would find exotic and presumably desirable; its main rationale for existence was that it operated as a transfer point for civilian transports, particularly passenger vessels.

Colclough uhmmed and ahhed, but at last confessed it was a commercial decision. They would take on extra passengers there. Well heeled passengers. The fine print on flight bookings no doubt covered such course diversions, something that hardly applied to him; he was hitching a ride as a courtesy to Starfleet.

"I would like to send a sub-space communication to _Enterprise_, Captain Colclough, to advise them of the delay." And get Starfleet to send a ship and get him off this damn vessel before he died of boredom and frustration. He had a starship in mid refit he needed to oversee, dammit.

"Certainly, Captain Kirk, it is the least we can do." Colclough's voice was pregnant with relief that his august guest had not unloaded the expected opprobrium on him. The august guest could have, but he doubted the change of course was Colclough's idea. "Please standby while I transfer you to my comms officer. Colclough out."

"Captain Kirk, this is Harris. Please standby while I hail _Enterprise_, sir." Old habits die hard. From the formality of manner in which Harris addressed him, he suspected the greyed communications officer was retired Starfleet and determined to flaunt her efficiency, an efficiency of which he was an appreciative beneficiary; she must have anticipated his request, because it was only scant moments before he was speaking to Uhura.

"Spock on the bridge, Uhura?"

"Present, Captain."

"How's my refit coming along?"

"On schedule, sir."

"I don't know whether you've heard, but the _Gloriana_ is diverting to Cochrane Point."

"Indeed? That will delay your arrival at Andoria by a considerable margin."

"Tell me about it! Spock, if I spend another hour aboard this ship, I am going to lose my mind. _Enterprise_ is being refitted and I want to be around to see it in progress. Understand, it's not that I don't trust my crew—"

"Jim," Spock said, interrupting his whining, "I can arrange for a long distance shuttle out of Starbase 24 to dock with _Gloriana_ within approximately twelve to fourteen hours. I regret I cannot be more precise on an ETA at this time."

"I can live with twelve to fourteen. I can sleep through most of that. I think. I hate being a passenger, Spock." It alarmed him that that last bit came out almost as a wail.

"Understood, Captain. Spock out."

Since there was little else for him to do, he burrowed back under the covers and did his best to catch up on his sleep. He would be glad of it once he arrived home. Refits could be a fraught affair, even with an exemplary crew. He blanked his mind and, and perhaps because he knew he would soon be leaving, sleep claimed him quickly.

XXX

Another chime drew him out of a confused dream, where all his efforts to return home met with hurdle after hurdle. He squinted at the clock. Ten hundred hours on the nose.

He hit the comm panel switch. "Kirk here." No response. He flicked the switch again. "Kirk here." Sluggish synapses finally fired and he threw off his bedcovers and headed for the door. The thing about sleeping as much as this, it left him muggy and sluggish when he woke up.

"Captain Kirk, this is Tay," said a tentative voice, when he answered his door chime.

"Who?"

"Siran's brother."

Ah, Tay and his merry little band of Vulcans. He gave himself the once over, checking his attire, or more probably a lack of it, wouldn't outrage the delicate sensibilities of a guest, opened the door and waved his visitor inside. "What can I do for you?"

"My brother is in what Captain Colclough calls the brig," and, in case he needed further elucidation, added, "he is under arrest."

Brig? A brig? What the hell sort of outfit was that man running? Starfleet wannabe!

His new friend had a bad case of the fidgets. The boy looked down at his hands, the worst culprits, and attempted to quell his agitation with a formal pose of hands behind back, back ramrod straight.

"Captain, I beg you to intercede with Captain Colclough on my brother's behalf. Any remuneration you may wish for your service, my family will undertake."

That gave him pause, until he realised it was only a cry for help, not an offer of a bribe. He forsook telling Tay to calm down; no need to add insult to injury, even though Tay was betraying his youth with his distress. A human counterpart would be in tears.

"Alright, let me ask the obvious: why is your brother under arrest?"

"Captain Colclough accuses my brother of attempting to steal his ship."

XXX

Strange to think of decor and brig in the same context, but _Gloriana_'s version came with startlingly white walls and bright lighting that hurt Kirk's eyes.

Siran lay on a cot in the brig's cell. At least he presumed it was the boy. A medic tended to him and blocked most of his view. Colclough had ordered the forcefield barrier raised, which seemed a little excessive under the circumstances.

"We had to stun him with a phaser," Captain Colclough said, underlining the thought. "That is Doctor Briscoe examining him." Medical prying. Not a development to make Tay any less restive.

"That," Tay said, agreeing with his assessment, "is not required. My cousin is a healer; he will treat my brother for his injuries." Tay's entreaty fell on deaf ears; a dyspeptic Captain Colclough, a man normally given to an excess of bonhomie, bestowed a glare that went someway beyond brusque and dallied with outright incivility. It was just as well an intercom hail drew him away.

On reflection showing up in Starfleet gold might not have been the most politic decision. The uniform obliged _Gloriana_'s captain to hear him out, but Colclough didn't have to like it, nor did he have to conceal his distaste for the manipulation. A lot of the man's resentment probably still stemmed from their ill starred introduction and now his rude and uppity guest was taking it upon himself to stick his nose into _Gloriana_'s business.

If Colclough were prepared to hear him out, he could offer the observation that a general aptitude for the sticking in of one's nose might be regarded as the raison d'être of a starship captain. Many an adventurer, who took it upon themselves to try the Federation's toleration for their brand of mischief, could attest to Starfleet officers' untimely inquisitiveness.

Colclough finished his call, but made no attempt to engage either of them, instead clasping his hands behind his back and focusing his attention on Briscoe and his prisoner. No point trying to placate the captain at this point in the trajectory of his annoyance, better to let him simmer down a little.

In lieu of fascinating conversation, he turned his own attention to examining the brig. The smell that sanitisers could not scrub out of surfaces he identified as a faint, but pervading, smell of vomit. So, less a brig and more a drunk tank; in which case the two sets of personal restraints mounted on the wall were a little excessive for so pedestrian a use. Drunk tank or not, though, the docking port that seemingly formed an integral part of the brig made him scratch his head. No starship captain would tolerate such an obvious security breach.

"My cousin is a healer, he will treat my brother for his injuries."

Colclough's head snapped round and he speared Tay with a glare. "I am not hard of hearing, sir.!"

"Tay has asked me to lend assistance, where I can, Captain."

Which chipped further away at Colclough's patience. His brow lowered. "And I must ask what's this to do with you, sir?" he snapped.

"I do have some experience with Vulcans." Colclough would know the identity of his first officer.

Colclough's gaze went to the livid marks about his throat, but he said nothing. He had not really believed the story of an over enthusiastic wrestling bout.

"Do you really want to keep that boy cooped up in here? It's possible that Siran's family may be well placed on Vulcan." Tay's eyebrows lifted at this, proving it to be the over statement he had suspected, but, small mercies, his new friend offered no correction. "In which case, you might find yourself at the centre of a diplomatic incident." He left Colclough to mull that over. Judging by the way the man's jaw tightened, it was a complication he had not considered.

"Then let them. The matter can be adjudicated in the Federation courts, when we put in at our final destination, Raisa."

Oh, sweet—

Unfortunately Tay was not done. "Captain, I demand my cousin be allowed to examine Siran." Colclough bristled at so peremptory a demand. So much for the diplomatic approach. Where was a gag, when he needed one?

He sent Tay a quelling look. "Excuse my Vulcan friend; he is concerned for his brother."

Colclough drew himself up in all his portly glory. "I'm not in the habit of mistreating my passengers, Captain, no matter the provocation, and there was plenty of provocation to go around, believe me. That man," Colclough levelled an admonishing finger — _j'accuse!_ — at the motionless figure on the cot, "assaulted two of my crew — one of them has a broken arm." Colclough's glower intensified. "That man battered down the door to the flight deck with a Vulcan cudgel—"

"Lirpa."

Not helping, Tay.

Colclough drew an aggrieved breath and continued. "That man demanded my people change course for Vulcan at the point of said weapon, whereupon the flight deck crew signalled a security emergency. Security arrived. The Vulcan would not desist and promptly attacked when he was told to stand down. At which point in proceedings he was stunned and brought here. I immediately called Doctor Briscoe to provide medical attention." Colclough seeking somewhere to bestow a glower that, with the telling of his tale, darkened into a deeper shading of righteous offence, laid the full force of it on his fellow captain. He restrained himself from an _it wasn't me_. If venting helped Colclough, then it was all to the good, far, far better to offer up the sympathetic ear. "Although, why the urgency to return to Vulcan beats me."

He would not enlighten him. Siran's attempt to turn a ship around bore far less success than another endeavour in the same vein he could think of. The liner's controls were pretty foolproof, but did Siran even know how to pilot a ship, any ship?

Tay, at last, taking a leaf from his book, laid off the demands. "Captain, I apologise on behalf of my brother. I assure you this is not his normal behaviour. My family will make all necessary reparations to your company and to the members of your crew, who have been injured. He is not well and treatment for his condition requires his prompt relocation to Vulcan."

"Doctor Briscoe is a more than capable medical professional." Colclough turned that glower in Tay's direction. "If that was supposed to be an appeal for me to change course, I'm not interested.

Tay frowned, as if wracking his brains for an apt response. "Please?"

Kirk smothered a snort, turned the sympathy and understanding up to max again, and drew Colclough to one side. "Captain, do you really want to keep that sick boy a prisoner?"

"Kirk," and _Gloriana_'s captain finally ditched the honorific. "Are you seriously about to advocate I release someone who attacked my crew without provocation?" Colclough, his ire still raw, and understanding he was about to be persuaded to a course of action he did not care for, was not disposed to let him get a toehold in the conversation.

"Well, if you put it like that, Captain. I would think this facility a safe place for Siran, until you drop him off at Vulcan."

Colclough goggled at him, not sure whether to be astonished or offended.

Who said diplomacy was the art of letting someone else have your way? "I am sympathetic to the aggravation and, as a fellow captain," careful, that was laying it on a little thick, "I well understand your outrage for the safety and well being of your crew. But a Vulcan on a berserk rampage? We both know there's something wrong with that picture, sir. I don't have to tell you how out of character such behaviour is for them. They embrace non-violence; for them it is not empty posturing."

"I would never have thought it possible, but that's the thing about Vulcans, one should never forget they are actually a warlike race. I suppose any Vulcan must have his breaking point," Colclough muttered in an aside that Kirk was not sure was intended for him. The captain drew in a considering, judicial breath. "I'm still thinking the Federation courts on Raisa are best equipped to sort out this mess." To get an aggravating headache off his hands, he meant.

Sort out? Was the man really that naïve? Or was he kidding himself. The latter probably. This was just the opening he needed. Make Colclough recognise that bombast would result in the worst of all possible worlds, the pitfalls of indulging his ill-temper. He would also need to provide Colclough with an out that saved face.

"Well, you're a braver man than I for considering involving Federation investigators. What little dealings I have ever had with them myself left the impression that they work to their own timetable, the priorities of busy captains be damned."

Colclough squirmed. His jaw worked, but he swallowed whatever he wanted to say, no doubt because it would uncork the threatened eruption. "You are proposing I reward bad, no make that criminal, behaviour with a detour to Vulcan?"

"Believe me, Captain, if Siran were aware of what he had done it would occasion a very un-Vulcan sort of embarrassment," Kirk said, ignoring Tay, standing in his line of sight and giving him the Vulcan equivalent of the evil eye for that. "Consider, sir, that it does indeed seem that Siran has diminished responsibility for his actions as a result of illness, and that there is an offer on the table for restitution of damages. It's my experience when Vulcans say something they mean it."

Colclough huffed.

Kirk continued, while he was on a roll. "I think it would also be prudent to consider what should happen if you were to lose the boy."

Colclough looked around blankly at the brig, as if to discover a hiding place.

"If he were to die." The addition of the bald clarification made Colclough shrink from him, a reaction that gladdened his own heart. "It's my experience that Vulcans are seldom ill, but if they should succumb to illness, it may be life threatening." Tay flinched, and well he might. The only time Spock had taken ill, with the same thing that now afflicted Siran, he'd nearly died. "Vulcans revere life. With their limited birth rate, they are particularly touchy about the safety of members of their race. If Siran's illness were to take an unfortunate turn, it is not beyond the bounds of reason that even the Vulcan High Council might take an interest and, if this were to occur, I imagine you and your company would be obliged to field question after question." Tay's eyebrows pursued his hairline again, but he ignored the unspoken editorial. Not exactly a lie. "Lots and lots of questions. Vulcan might even be denied to you as a port of call, if the answers received were perceived to be unsatisfactory. Believe me you don't want to mess with bloody-minded Vulcans, they can really take the fun out of life."

Colclough huffed. Huffed and puffed. Kirk let out a surreptitious hiss of his own breath. A done deal. Now that Colclough had got most of his ire off his chest, the price of escalating the situation made him balk at what it would cost in time and personnel resources.

"Alright, Kirk, I'm listening."

Yes, he was. He offered _Gloriana_'s captain his most judicious expression. "Under your authority as captain of this vessel, you could divert to Vulcan for the sake of a medical emergency. The bean counters at your company's headquarters might gnash their teeth, but a medical emergency always trumps profit margins, and, said Kirk, aware he was going for the clincher, "you would have the sworn testimony of _Enterprise_'s captain to back you up."

"Still listening."

"What's the maximum warp speed that _Gloriana_ can muster?"

"Warp five."

"Then you would get him off your hands within ten hours."

Tempting prospect. "The errand of mercy angle. Probably stop a lot of whining from the passengers in its tracks, too." Colclough was sold.

"Without a doubt, Captain."

"If you two gentleman have quite finished," said Doctor Briscoe, interrupting their little détente, "you might want to consider a hitch to your plans."

"What hitch, Doctor Briscoe?" Colclough asked.

"That I am herewith placing _Gloriana_ in quarantine."

XXX

A/N: any feedback, good or bad, much appreciated.

A/N 2: I am flying without the benefit of a net – a beta. Anyone out there interested in looking this over first? Will trade beta duties, if anyone wants.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - Appreciation and thanks to those who left a review.

Remember at the start of this thing I whined for feedback, because I did not know who was back-buttoning out of dodge, who was reading to the end. The solution to this seems to be writing a multi-chaptered fic. Urk! For the few souls still with me, thanks for reading and I now bring you –

A/N2 – I have now edited this slightly

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

"What?" Kirk said.

"What?" Colclough said.

Tay made no response, but his shoulders sagged as if he were shouldering a great burden.

Briscoe, thoroughly put out with events, approached the barrier and signalled for his release. Indeed Kirk had almost forgotten the doctor's presence.

"My patient" — well, kudos to the doctor for not saying prisoner — "is suffering from some illness, the like of which I have never before seen. Until I can determine what it is and whether it is a contagious infection, I consider it prudent he be kept in isolation. Since he has been aboard for the last four days, who knows who has been exposed to this condition, hence the requirement for quarantine."

So near, so far. Aside from the danger to Siran, the thought of being stranded on this vessel, for who knew how long, made his blood run cold.

"Doctor, do you not think quarantine a little excessive?" He asked, with scant hope of agreement.

"I was not aware that, amongst their other accomplishments, starship captains held medical degrees, too."

"Briscoe!" Colclough growled.

"I am serious, Captain."

"My brother is not contagious."

Briscoe eyed Tay. "Indeed? Are you a doctor, sir?"

"I am not a healer. I am Vulcan. My brother is Vulcan. The," Tay cast around for the correct word, "treatment he requires is on Vulcan."

Briscoe speared Tay with a look. "What is he suffering from, then?"

"His condition affects only Vulcans," Tay said, sidestepping the question.

"So?" Briscoe said, unmoved. "We are bound for Port Cochrane. I was astonished, really quite astonished to discover the number of Vulcan ships that call in there in the space of a few days. From there Vulcan is a short hop away, Rigellian space even closer. You are aware of the similarity between Rigellian and Vulcan physiology, are you not?"

Tay blanked his features and said nothing.

"Gentlemen," said Briscoe, "unless I can determine what his illness is, he's not going anywhere, not where the safety of the ship and even the people at the ship's next port of call and beyond are concerned." Briscoe appealed to Colclough directly. "Captain Kirk has let you hear what you want to hear. Do you want to know what's on the other side of that coin, Captain Colclough?"

"Not especially", Colclough muttered in an undertone.

Briscoe had no intention of sparing him. "If you were contemplating over-ruling me, Captain, then I would urge you remember the good ship _Tethys_. That snagged Colclough's attention in a hurry, as well it might. Seventy years later her notoriety lived on. Such a small ship to spread infection across a thirty light year arc of space. Fifteen million died; one colony world virtually wiped out and had to be reseeded from scratch. When she was finally apprehended, no living creature remained aboard. The ship and her late lamented crew ended their days towed into the cleansing fires of the nearest star to where she was found.

He had seen that look on his CMO's face, too, and his heart sank. Of course, McCoy would never budge where the spectre of a medical disaster might lay in the offing, nor would he expect anything different. McCoy, however, would not exult in the opportunity to throw his weight around as Briscoe was now doing. Colclough gave his fellow captain a beset look. He sympathised. He loathed bullies on principal. No recourse at this point other than to keep his mouth shut, though. What was personal convenience when compared to the potential for the spread of pestilence?

Tay turned a speculative eye over Siran's cell and the close quarters of the brig, as though measuring the limits of the brig's containment. Hemming Vulcans into a corner — that never ended well. Visions of jail breaks or resorts to more drastic solutions populated his imagination; the last thing he needed was a surplus of Vulcan initiative.

"Tay," he said, to draw the Vulcan's attention to him. He leant in and dropped his voice. "I think I have the means to allay Doctor Briscoe's concerns about a spread of infection."

Tay attempted to maintain a proper Vulcan detachment, amid the boy's precarious control. To allow Tay to get it together, he did the only thing he thought polite, and ignored the emotional déshabille before him in favour of a close study of the deck plating, which apparently offered a source of much fascination. Even so, Tay had drawn back a step, so utterly appalled at the prospect of what the doctor would likely have to be made party to, that Kirk added a hasty, "I will keep what's required to the bare minimum. But if I get Briscoe to see reason, is there a way your family can send a vessel to rendezvous with _Gloriana_?"

"Captain, my family are not as eminent as Commander Spock's, nor do they have such resources at their disposal." A discreet eye cast over Tay's clothing, which one might suppose to be his best, and thereby employed to impress Captain Colclough with an impression of stolid reliability, proved to be nothing more than clean, but well used attire. Such an assessment made him wonder if Tay's offer of reparations might seriously dent the family assets for decades to come.

Tay gazed at him, all expression now scrupulously wiped clean. "We were headed for Praahk," the name threw him, until he placed it as the Vulcan name for a Rigellian colony, "where we would make a connection for Vulcan, but with the liner's diversion, that connection has been missed. The original flight plan would have brought us to Vulcan the day after next."

The absence in Siran's eyes amounted to a harbinger of an imminent descent into the plak-tow. Tay's timetable, however much it was now shot to hell, offered a disquieting impression that they had been cutting it a bit fine. Tay returned to his scrutiny of the brig; his gaze flicked over Colclough and Briscoe. Measuring the odds? Kirk hoped not. Tay's family having no resources of their own to call upon complicated matters. A fast Starfleet shuttle headed his way, but he didn't think Starfleet would take kindly to him re-purposing her mission. There was also a less generous desire on his part that he wanted to return to _Enterprise_. In any case, a starship captain's authority extended only so far. Yes, he could play the errand of mercy angle he'd recommended to Colclough, but it would necessitate justifying the detour with a disclosure of more information than Tay, or any Vulcan, would care for. Better the low key approach.

"Okay," he said in the briskest of tones. "Plan B it is then."

Time for _Gloriana_'s communications officer to strut more of her stuff.

XXX

Kirk opted to take the second of his two calls, this one to Gerry Kerrigan, in the privacy of his quarters.

"Jim Kirk, as I live and breathe. I nearly fell over, when I saw your call id. You traded in _Enterprise_ for the lap of luxury, then?"

He shuddered. "Don't even go there, Gerry."

Gerry laughed. "How the hell are you?"

"In need of a favour."

Gerry's voice turned dry. "I owe you several, as I recall."

"Not keeping count, here."

"You should. A girl could take advantage."

"I need a ride — and, no, that's not supposed to be a double-entendre — I have some friends who need to get to Vulcan in a hurry."

"What constitutes hurry?"

"As in yesterday. I'm desperate, Gerry. I'll take a garbage scow as long as it's fast."

"Oh hell, Jim, my people are light years away. I'm the only one close. I'm crewing the _Isolde_ back to homeport. In fact, I'm really close to where that fat liner of yours is hogging all the room in the shipping lanes, but the _Isolde_ is not exactly an appropriate choice just right now." He searched his memory for the vessels that formed Gerry's fleet. _Isolde_ was a small courier. Too small for the power demands of a transporter, but otherwise very fast. Gerry typically used her to ship either people or expensive high-end cargo items that had to be somewhere in a hurry. Promising.

"Define what is not exactly an appropriate choice."

Gerry let out a huffy breath. "Oh, you'll love this. My last job was to ship a Tellarite's pedigree livestock from Tellar Prime to Tellar Secundus. Don't ask me how, I've not ruled out mischief from my competitors looking for fun at my expense, but their shipping crates opened in transit and they escaped; docile, gentle things, so that wasn't really a problem. The issue was that space travel did not agree with them; it caused them to gush from both ends. My client was unhappy his animals arrived in port seriously dehydrated and made life difficult, hell, next to impossible, for me to bring in a clean-up crew. In the end, breaking orbit and leaving for our homeport seemed like the simplest solution. I'm not kidding, Jim. The _Isolde_ is ankle deep in sh—, in manure. Think that any place for Vulcans?"

"I'll take it, Gerry. My Vulcan friends may never smell another thing, but beggars can't be choosers."

Gerry sounded dubious. "I'm not so sure about this. It doesn't present a good image of my fleet."

"Believe me, they'll have other things on their mind. Anyway it won't hurt them to breathe through their mouths for the nine hour stretch to Vulcan."

"Seven," she corrected with an automatic pride for her ship. "Very well, Captain Kirk, I am altering course to rendezvous with _Gloriana_. Will you inform her captain to expect me, sir."

"Will do, Captain. ETA?"

"Three and a half hours. Shade under, probably. See you then, Jim. _Isolde_ out."

XXX

Kirk was in his cabin, packing his few items of gear ready for his own disembarkation, when the door pinged for his attention. He answered it, thinking it would be Tay.

"Doctor Briscoe."

Unbidden, the doctor invited himself inside. "I thought you would be pleased to hear that I have lifted the quarantine."

"Thank you, Doctor Briscoe, but I was already aware of that," he said, and went back to his task.

"You know, I do deplore captains taking it upon themselves to involve themselves in medical decisions." A grin flickered into being. "Even if they are right."

"It is Doctor McCoy who is right, sir, as I am sure perusal of his report proved." He paused in his packing. "You did receive Doctor McCoy's report?"

Briscoe fidgeted. "I have. What little there was of it."

"But quite sufficient, I understand, for you to confirm that what is going on with Siran is not an infectious process and that he is no danger to others."

He narrowed his eyes at his visitor. Something was off. Briscoe offered the complaint about overstepping professional boundaries in the guise of friendly raillery, but the tension in his shoulders and the set of his jaw bespoke a real annoyance. Why would Briscoe think him uninformed of the lifting of the quarantine? Answer: he had been under no such misapprehension — he wanted something. Doctor Sweetness and Light gave him another friendly grin, whose brittleness betrayed that he seethed inside, and that clinched it.

The Briscoe smile congealed, before the man wrestled it back into shape. "That boy may not be infectious, Captain Kirk, but I don't agree he's not a danger to others. I had two of our crew to patch up to prove otherwise. I've told Colclough he should keep him penned in the brig, until he's ready to leave." He stared back, expecting disagreement, and was surprised when all he received was a comment that that was probably a good idea.

"The ship that's coming to collect Siran and the others can attach to the brig's docking port. My young friends should be off _Gloriana's_ hands within the next hour." He spared a gloomy eye for the crushed and sorry state of his dress uniform. "I hear Siran has stopped throwing himself at the brig's force field."

"Yes, he's quieted down. His brother is in there with him and his presence seems to have calmed him."

Or perhaps Tay had informed Siran of the pending arrival of Gerry's ship.

"Sex."

He paused in his attempt to smooth out creases in his tunic. "Thank you, but you're not my type."

Briscoe ignored the quip. "It has to do with reproduction, doesn't it? I've not had much time, but enough to perform some tests of my own, the results of which are startling. It would make a fascinating topic for a scientific paper."

One that might very possibly make his name. That he had presented himself in person to pass on the news about releasing the ship from quarantine suddenly made a deal more sense. If he were to guess, Briscoe had received no help from Tay and Siran, so he was about to appeal to the person, who had secured Siran's deliverance. His Vulcan first officer was famous. Did Briscoe see him as the Vulcan whisperer, the purveyor of Vulcan secrets?

The hell with that.

Just as well Briscoe was absolutely no good at this. He summoned up his twelve year old self and smirked, cranking the dial all the way into obnoxious. "Sex? If you are going to ask _Gloriana's_ Vulcan guests all they can tell you about the birds and the bees, can I watch?"

Briscoe failed to conceal a glower.

"Maybe they can offer an opinion on: if love is blind, why is lingerie so popular?" He waggled his eyebrows at the man. "Or, as a man of science, you might prefer: gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love."

"Captain Kirk, I—"

"I'd prefer you stuck to lingerie, though. Indeed, maybe you could ask them if they have a particular taste in lingerie?"

"Kirk—"

"It is better to have loafed and lost than never to have loafed at all."

"Kirk, I came to ask for your assistance. I need a blood sample."

"You'll have to clear that with Doctor McCoy. I don't think he approves of other doctors trying to muscle in on his patients, particularly, when they're Starfleet."

Briscoe blinked. "What? No, I don't mean you. Why would I need your blood? Kirk, those Vulcans listen to you. Now, they owe you."

Whoa, bad, bad answer. Nothing would persuade him that any one deserved to be subjected to treatment as if they were no more than a bug, with an eviscerating scalpel poised to do its worst, nor would he have any truck with the notion of a debt incurred for his troubles.

"People say you can't live without love, but I think oxygen is more important." He continued in a similar vein, a stream of smart ass quips, mindless small talk, puerile humour. Not that Briscoe heeded such an impediment to his purpose, manfully swallowing his annoyance and attempting to deflect the conversation into a more serious tone. He took that as an ominous warning of Briscoe's desire to pursue his investigation; any less determined an individual would have left his company long since. He should warn Tay.

His gear neatly stacked, he made a show of looking at it in a none too subtle hint, until a silence stretched between them and became awkward. Briscoe grudgingly took his leave, no longer able to ignore that he'd outstayed his welcome.

Xxx

Kirk covered his surprise at how fine Captain Colclough cut his arrival at the brig, appearing just as Gerry began her final approach to dock with _Gloriana_. The liner's captain seemed untroubled that his Starfleet guest was now de facto running this dog and pony show, with not a peep out of him over Kirk engaging Kerrigan's services. In fact, Colclough was back to extending his Starfleet guest all courtesies, ecstatic to have this headache in the guise of troublesome Vulcans off his hands. Briscoe was absent, for which he offered up grateful thanks and he was pretty sure Colclough matched the sentiment. The doctor had the mien of a man thinking maybe he should reconsider his position, no matter that McCoy had provided all necessary data to disprove an infection.

The force field barrier was down. A meek and disorientated Siran stood next to his brother; the other Vulcans kept close order, as if to blockade further interference. Briscoe must have been at them again.

Colclough sent him a curious stare. "Is something bothering you, Captain Kirk?"

"That docking port." Not a lie. It so had. Bless the vagaries of ship design. "Why place it here? It offers the possibility of a security breach."

_Gloriana's_ captain tried to contain amusement, failed. "This is not Starfleet, Captain. That port was part of the ship's original design and this facility added afterwards. It was intended for the odd rowdy passenger, who partook of a little too much liquid cheer, and made themselves a nuisance to my other passengers. I am not sure a drunk passenger would have friends with the requisite resources to spring him from detention. An access port is a moot consideration, I find. At least I thought so until today; I never anticipated its use for this."

The captain might have continued, but _Isolde's_ docking clamps mated with the _Gloriana's_ brig port, established a hard seal and the airlocks opened into _Isolde's_ deck.

Beside him the Vulcan's recoiled as one.

No, the air hadn't actually turned a shade of puce, just his imagination at work. That was … unexpectedly pungent.

"Shit!" Colclough gagged and looked like he would prefer to stop breathing.

"Yep," Kirk said, "that'll make your eyes water, alright."

Gerry appeared from the dim interior of her ship. "Next stop, Vulcan." She grinned at Kirk, but mindful of her manners, addressed her next words to Colclough. "Permission to come aboard, Captain."

"Permission granted. You are very welcome, Captain Kerrigan."

"For not too long, I hope." Gerry's grin widened and she stepped forward. "I'd give you a hug, Jim, but under the circumstances, I'd better not. I'm not sure I'm going to get the reek out of my own clothes."

"Saves Hakim from being jealous."

"You wish."

"Which reminds me, I haven't offered you congratulations on your engagement. He finally wore you down, huh?"

Gerry blushed, something he thought he would never see, but he was even more pleased at how happy she looked. Embarrassing a friend, though, had not been his design. He changed the subject to talk of her ship, told her he thought she was a beauty.

"I thought so, too, until my encounter with my Tellarite client's finest bloodstock." Gerry, mindful of a tight schedule, turned business-like. "Jim, will you introduce me to my passengers?

He caught Tay's eye and the Vulcan stepped forward for introductions to be made. The other two were called Samel and the healer he named as Isran. Tay introduced both as his cousins.

Isran sent Tay a look as if to demand that this was for real. He sympathised. The journey ahead was going to test anyone's gag reflex. Tay offered him a mildly enquiring raised eyebrow in response, which somehow managed to convey that Isran was not compelled to go with them. Isran gazed at the open maw of the ship, straightened his shoulders and returned Tay's look with one of determined assent.

Gerry trained that business-like look on her intended passengers. "I hope Captain Kirk was totally frank about the status of my ship; I can get you to Vulcan in approximately seven hours, but as you may have already gathered, it is not a journey you will find remotely comfortable."

"Discomforts are of no consequence."

Gerry considered Tay for a moment. "Alrighty then, lets get this show on the road."

"Kirk, stop!" he finally had his answer where Briscoe had gone. "Colclough, you cannot let them board that vessel!"

xxx

Any and all feedback gratefully received


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